( dean thinks he understands, the way cas looks at him without being able to express what he means in words. there's a reason cas never showed dean his wings before, not necessarily because he didn't want to, but more so because dean hadn't asked, thereby implying it isn't something that one would just reveal without a formal request. if dean were more modest, more ashamed of his imperfections, he might equate it to sharing scars: vulnerable and deeply personal, intimate on an emotional level rather than just the physical.

he means to say i want to, let me do this for you, but nothing he means to say ever quite comes out that way, it seems. )

I've been patching Sammy up since he was old enough to skin his knees. I got this, Cas.

( i'm here, i've got you.

his hands slip away from their contact on cas' skin as he circles around to cas' back, hands hovering tentatively above cas' wings. without even touching them, he can feel a low hum of energy just beneath his fingertips, and he wonders if this is what an angel's power feels like, dim as it may be now. he wonders if these hands, bloodstained as they are, are even worthy of touching something so wholly divine. )

You should probably sit, if you can. This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.